Delaney Raines (divariffic) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2017-08-18 14:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 090, delaney |
Where Am I?
Who: Delaney
Where: her room
When: 5:30 a.m.
The first vague, disoriented thought Delaney had as she was rising to wakefulness was should've kept the Prada purse.
Her last memory was being in that Bloomingdale's parking lot waiting for somebody from Craigslist to meet her and buy some stuff from her. She'd waffled about that purse to the very end. As she'd been leaning against the door of the car she'd borrowed from an acquaintance, waiting, she'd been considering telling the person she'd lost the purse. There were plenty of other things in her tote that they could buy. She'd been torn between the realization that even at the deep discount for which she was selling it, she could probably pay a security deposit and first month's rent somewhere that wasn't L.A. and her sheer love for the purse, which had a moon and stars on the front of it. It was fucking gorgeous, but she needed the money more than she'd ever needed money in her life.
She frowned, thinking of the roommates who'd turned on her and insisted she find somewhere else to live. Bitches. They were jealous. She'd never had a lot of success keeping female friends for very long, and these were probably the ones who'd stuck by her the longest. Lot of good that had done her. For the past couple of weeks she'd been living in panic mode, and that wasn't how Delaney rolled. She was going to come out of this, and then everyone who'd hurt her could eat shit.
Her eyes rolled beneath their lids as she tried to remember if she'd actually sold the purse. Why couldn't she? It had only been last night, hadn't it? It was so tough to wake up. It reminded her of dreams she'd had before where she was slapping the alarm clock again and again, rising from bed and trying to force her eyes open, wondering why she couldn't see anything. Everything dark, dim, blurry. Then she was back in bed, trying to turn off the alarm, feeling an urgent need to get up, wake up, and being unable to. Finally she blinked enough that she was able to lift her heavy eyelids and stared uncomprehendingly at what looked like a mirror with designs or patterns on it, way over her head. The room was dark, but there was enough ambient light that she could make that out.
Despite having covers, Delaney was cold, and she shivered, one hand sliding beneath what felt like a sheet, blanket and duvet to find out what she had on. Something made of cotton, she decided. This didn't feel like her twin bed at the apartment, and that definitely wasn't her ceiling. Where am I? she mouthed, unable to get actual sound to leave her throat. She probably lay there for half an hour as she tried to decide how alarmed she should be about these developments. The room lightened further as dawn got closer, and she turned her head, seeing what looked like an IV pole with a tube running from it. And hey, go figure, when she lifted her other hand she found that an IV was running into the back of it.
That alarmed her, and Delaney pushed at the covers, scrambling to sit up, to make her limbs work. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she scrambled toward the edge of the bed. Sadly for her, she'd picked the wrong side, and the IV pulled out of her hand at about the same time she fell over the edge, assisted by the slide of the satiny duvet. "Ow," she mumbled, holding her bleeding hand to her chest, sitting with her shoulder against the side of the bed. She'd been crying the day before, in the car on the way to Bloomingdale's, and her cheeks still felt stiff from it. She wanted to cry now, too, but she held it in. What had happened? What was she supposed to do now?
A few more minutes and she motivated herself to get up, moving slowly, wrinkling her nose a little when she saw that she was in a hospital gown, of all things. A pause at the window, where she stared blankly at a landscape covered with snow and shivered as she touched the window glass and felt how frigid it was, and Delaney was moving toward the nearest door. Locked. She pulled on the knob several times, as if she might have been wrong and it would magically open. Only sheer pride kept her from banging frantically on it. She pulled the gown more tightly around her and began exploring the room, turning on lamps as she went, looking for something that would help her figure out how to get out of here.